


An Experiment Gone Awry

by Yatzuaka



Series: I have a feeling I will regret this [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2452961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yatzuaka/pseuds/Yatzuaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bf is out of town, so to give myself something to do, foolishly I challenged myself to 28 days of 500 words a day. I did not take into account my OCD. Oops. Technically failed, but I am forging on.<br/>2 hats: 14 fandoms 28 genres.<br/>Star Trek Alt Universe (2009) will be stored here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Experiment Gone Awry

**Author's Note:**

> Todays hats yielded:  
> Star Trek  
> Romance  
> And thus I was stuck. Especially since, of course, I chose Spock and Nyota. Dur.

Valentines Day is a construct, a completely made-up celebration of an illogical emotional response. Spock does not "get it", nor will he ever do so, mostly because it seems like a waste of energy. He values efficiency almost as much as he values logic, and using his time to figure out a useless Terran custom is both too frivolous and too uninteresting. Nevertheless, mentions of the day continue for weeks before it actually arrives, as if he would somehow forget the event or find excitement in anticipating it.

When it finally arrives, he finds that he is almost eager for it, if only because it would finally be over. Student participation has been 38% lower than usual, and 20% lower than an average Friday. Something about the coincidence of the two made for a very unproductive day.

Cadet Uhura is an uncommonly focused and competent student, far more so than the three other cadets that had been assigned as his Aides, but it seemed that she too has succumbed to the lure of day. Her productivity has fallen approximately 35%. She seems to be huffing a great deal and tapping her left foot in a staccato rhythm he almost recognizes. There is a persistent buzzing coming from her bag, and he observes her almost reach for it seven times.

Spock has calculated an 87% likelihood that the Cadet will leave the lab exactly on time, rather than linger for an hour or more as she does on nearly other day. She gets up at precisely seven, her hand immediately burrowing into her bag to retrieve her comm. Cadet Uhura smiles as she flicks through her messages, calling a _good night, Lieutenant Commander Spock_ over her shoulder, despite the fact that he has assured her the sentiment is, and always shall be, unnecessary.

He goes back to the research on his PADD, but her footsteps stop abruptly and she makes an outraged grunt that sounds suspiciously like a Klingon word for male genetalia. He is not interested, precisely, when he asks her if all was well, but it seems to be an appropriate expression under the circumstances. The normal response is yes, but she growls a _no, sir_ and he looks up.

She is clutching her bag and jacket tightly against her chest, and gripping the comm with enough force to bleach color from her knuckles. Her cheeks are tinged red and her rate of breathing higher than normal. The cadet spins on her heel and leaves the room, stomping across the floor in a manner that suggests anger. Human behavior never quite makes sense to him, so he does not think anything more of it when the door slips shut behind her.

It is many hours later when he looks up, late enough that the mess hall should be empty. He gathers stacks of PADDs and a few filmplasts, before making his way down the familiar corridors. He is nonplussed to see Cadet Uhura at one of the tables in the otherwise empty room, stirring something in a bowl. He orders plomeek soup from one of the replicators, picks up 8 spice packets and makes a seemingly innocent choice. To sit at the table his Aide occupies. She glances up when he nears and he can see the unhappiness so clearly writ on her face that he regrets coming over.

She says _no, please, sit, Sir_ when he makes to turn away, and sit he does, though he has neither the desire nor the inclination to deal with messy human emotion. They sit in silence, the only sound that of their breathing and the clink of spoons against ceramic. He recognizes the look on her face as sadness and is reminded forcefully of his mother.

The question is out of his mouth before he can even process the act of moving his lips. _Do you wish to speak of what bothers you?_ She shrugs and stirs the brown liquid in her bowl. After looking at her for a few seconds she says that he wouldn't understand. He agrees readily enough, he likely wouldn't, but he has heard that, for humans, it is helpful to discuss matters that bother them, but if her preference is to remain silent that is just as well. He spoons the last few vegetables from the bottom, content to let the matter lie.

But she mumbles something about being dumped, and though he is unfamiliar with the term, the tone of her voice indicates clearly her displeasure.

"Dumped? Dropped from a great height?"

She snorts at him. This has not happened since he spent time with his human cousins when he was a child.

"I'm not having this conversation with a superior or instructor. Sir," she says.

He stabs a piece of flat bread with a fork and uses it to sop up the last of the purple broth; he wasn't really interested in conversation, per se.

She gives a dramatic sigh and lays her head on the table. He's unused to such displays from the Cadet, but human women were frequently a mystery to him. 

"Dumped, Lieutenant Commander, means that my boyfriend ended our relationship abruptly. What kind of person dumps someone on Valentines Day?"

Silence seems like as good a response as any.

* * *

A year passed. Valentines Day slithered around again. It had been an exceedingly long 365 days, his focus so often where it should not be. Cadet Uhura had been assigned as his aide, and she had managed a record setting six month in that capacity. She was an uncommonly stimulating companion. Spock was distracted by her and this perplexed him in a way that meditation never really purged.

Cadet Uhura had not suffered from the same lack of focus, had not quivered in anticipation in her seat like so many of her fellows. Her answers had been as crisp and correct, and as frequent, as they always were. Spock dismissed the class, organizing the items his desk had accrued, the PADDs and crystal memory disks. The familiar steps of Cadet Uhura drew closer, her scent becoming a stronger presence in his nose. She smelled like oranges and something spicy.

He looked up, she drew a book from her bag, and handed it to him. Her color was high, but her voice was calm and clear when she explained that she had found a used copy of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. She had used the phrase 'when dining with a devil, use a long-handled spoon' not too long ago, and his eyebrow had quirked up of it's own volition, and she had mentioned the reference. She placed the wrapped package in front of him, careful as she always was not to touch him, even accidentally.

It was just one of the many courtesies she showed him. Cadet Uhura regularly turned the heat up passed the 32 mark, often complaining that she missed the temperature of Nairobi. She would bring him tea, precisely prepared to his liking. She Expected no responses to the chatter she made, indeed she did not even seem to expect him to pay attention to her nonsense ruminations.

"It's not a Valentine's Day gift," Cadet Uhura says, and this time he puts his eyebrow up quite deliberately. "Gai- my roommate hid it in a fit of completely childish pique. I would have waited until a less loaded day, but I was worried it would go missing again, and never mind. It's for all the help you've given me on my paper..." her voice trailed off, "It's not romance, it's poorly-timed gratitude."

Her words stir that something he tamps down with hours of meditation. "So you are not referring to a feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love or trying to influence or curry favor with me, especially by lavishing personal attention, gifts, or flattery?"

Her face is shocked for a moment before she notes the planes of his face and realizes that he has in fact made a jest. 

"Indeed not, Sir," she smiles brightly at him and he feels something that reminds him of a warm breeze. 

* * *

 


End file.
